


midnight drives when you'd sing

by brookethenerd



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Henderson!Reader, Post-Break Up, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd
Summary: Two months after the reader and Steve break up, Dustin tricks the pair into a road trip to visit the Byers. With a thousand miles and fifteen hours between Hawkins and Portland, chaos inevitably ensues
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	1. bring back one last time

**HOUR 0**

It takes fifteen hours to drive from Hawkins, Indiana to Portland, Maine, where Joyce Byers moved her kids - and El. The rest of Dustin’s party - Max, Lucas, and Mike - had left the day before to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with the Byers, and Dustin had corralled you into driving him, too. The alternative was an entire week alone with your mom and her family, and as much as you loved her, it was far preferable to hang out with Nancy and Jonathan in the middle of nowhere than to eat dry turkey with relatives who consistently forgot your name.

So, Portland.

“Dustin, I will leave without you.” You lugged your duffel bag toward the front door and glanced over your shoulder at your brother, who was shuffling down the hall with three bags tucked beneath his arms.

“Let’s do this,” he said, moving past you and out the door. You reached for your keys in the little bowl by the door, only for Dustin to stop and lean back, his expression unreadable when he said, “You don’t need those.” He disappeared out the front door, and you frowned.

“Why don’t I need my keys?” You followed your brother out onto the porch. “Dustin. Why don’t I-” The answer presented itself as soon as you turned into the driveway where Steve Harrington leaned against his car. His lips quirked up when he spotted your brother, but it slipped when his eyes landed on you. Your stomach dropped and you slammed to a halt.

You hadn’t seen Steve since the night you broke up; you’d gone to great lengths to avoid this exact situation.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You both asked at the same time.

“I’m taking Dustin to see Will and El,” Steve said.

“No, _I’m_ taking Dustin to see Will and El,” you said. You both turned on Dustin, who was attempting to look innocent as he shoved his bag into the back of Steve’s car.

“Dustin?” You asked. He crinkled his nose and rocked on his heels, avoiding both of your gazes.

“I may or may not have asked you _both_ to drive me.”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” You crossed your arms and glared at your brother.

“Man, that is so uncool,” Steve said. Dustin’s cheeks went pink, but he puffed out his chest as if to make himself appear bigger. It only ended up looking silly and somewhat adorable; not adorable enough to alleviate your anger, though.

“You two have been making me miserable since you broke up,” Dustin explained, chin turned up, “You need to sit down and talk your shit out.”

“So, you figured, you’d manipulate us into sitting in a car together? For nine hours?”

Dustin shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Unbelievable.” You threw up your hands, shaking your head. You’d made a point of not talking to Steve; talking was too hard, was too close to friendship. And a friendship was too hard.

“Dude, too far,” Steve said.

“I had to do something!”

“You absolutely did not.” You hoisted your bag up over your shoulder and turned to go back inside.

“Where are you going?” Dustin asked. You stopped and met his gaze.

“You don’t need me to drive you. I’m going back inside.”

“Would you rather spend the week with Aunt Margaret and her dentures?”

You froze. Damn him. You turned to face your brother, shooting him a glare, then met Steve’s gaze. His lips were pursed; at least he was as uncomfortable as you were. There was some consolation in that. But not much.

“Fine. But we’re not talking, we’re not getting back together-” though that point should have been aimed at Steve, it was Dustin you looked at, as he was the manipulative little monster, “We’re driving. That’s it. Nothing else.”

“Fine,” Dustin huffed.

“You good with that?” You asked Steve. It felt a little weird to ask, the intimacy you’d once possessed gone, awkward tension hanging between you. He nodded and said, “Fine by me. We can make the drive faster that way.” He moved around to the driver’s side, and you reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat. An annoyingly content Dustin hopped into the backseat and leaned over the front, but at your glare, he sat back.

“That means you really can’t fall asleep at the wheel,” Dustin said.

You spun around to look at him. “You’re on thin ice, dude. I don’t want to hear from you for _at least_ five hours.”

“But-“

“Nope!”

“That’s not-”

“Uh uh!” You shook your head at him and faced back forward, clipping your seatbelt in and crossing your arms with a huff.

“This should be fun,” Steve said, sarcasm dripping off his words. You grimaced.

Fifteen-plus hours in the car with the ex-boyfriend you’re still in love with? Fun indeed.

**HOUR 4**

You weren’t sure who you were going to throttle first: your brother, who wouldn’t stop fucking with the windows, or your ex, who couldn’t pick a _goddamn song_.

“Steve, I swear to _god_.” You swatted his hand away as he reached for the knob again, and his face contorted.

“It’s not my fault that stations keep going out,” Steve said.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere! What do you expect?” He shrugged, throwing a hand up dismissively. “Didn’t you bring any CD’s?”

“No. Why didn’t you bring CD’s?” Steve furrowed his brows, and his lips pulled into a thin line.

“I have CD’s,” you snapped, “ _In my car._ ”

 _“Jesus Christ_ , can you two _stop arguing_?” Dustin slunk down lower in the backseat, taking his hand off the window button - thank god - and frowning.

Steve scoffed, meeting Dustin’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Oh hell no, kid. You don’t get to bitch about the situation you put us in.”

“If I’d known you were going to bicker the whole time, I never would have _done it,_ ” he said.

“What’d you think was gonna happen? We’d sit here for two minutes and make-up?” You asked incredulously.

“Yeah, _actually_ ,” Dustin retorted. Steve groaned, and you shook your head.

“So _not_ how it works.”

“You have a lot to learn, man,” Steve said, letting out a tired sigh. A flash of guilt rolled through you; you hadn’t offered to drive, yet. It would get dark soon, and you still had a long way to go.

“Do you want to switch?” You asked, hoping the change would end the conversation. He sent you a grateful smile and nodded.

You had zero interest in discussing your relationship with your little brother; you didn’t even really want to talk to Steve about it.

Trying to talk about things was why you’d broken up in the first place. After everything happened that summer, Steve acted as if things were normal. Like you hadn’t almost died and lost Hopper, lost a chunk of the town. Like you hadn’t lost chunks of _yourselves_.

**HOUR 7**

Dustin and Steve dozed off somewhere Cleveland, Ohio, and Erie, Pennsylvania, giving you some needed peace and quiet. It was almost unbearably awkward between the three of you when the radio went out, and you were left in tense silence. You were grateful for the time to yourself. And to add to your good fortune, the radio wasn’t completely static, and you’d had consistent music for the last hour. 

You drummed your fingers against the steering wheel and song along to Eddie Money’s Take Me Home Tonight; both boys slept like the dead and likely wouldn’t stir even if you blasted the radio.

The windows were down a crack, pushing fresh air through the car and keeping you cool. It was a beautiful night, not a cloud in sight. You instinctively reached over to nudge Steve and make him look at the view but caught yourself before you did; old habits died hard.

You shook off the thought and flipped the music up another notch, resuming the solo concert.

“You could at least _try_ to sing on key,” Steve said from his curled up position against the passenger seat window, turning his head to look at you. You flinched and just barely managed not to jerk the wheel.

“Fucking-don’t _do_ that. You _know_ not to scare me when I’m driving,” you snapped. Steve held up his hands in surrender and then wiped his eyes, blinking the sleep away.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He straightened and looked around. “Where are we?”

“Just passed Buffalo.”

“New York?”

“Is there another?” You asked, though it wasn’t as harsh as you’d been earlier. It was more like it used to be, soft jabs and smiles. Steve cocked a brow.

“I failed geography, remember?”

“Pretty sure we _all_ failed geography.”

He smirked and glanced toward the backseat where Dustin slept among a pile of blankets and pillows.

“How long has he been out?”

“About as long as you. Not that he needs the rest.”

“Backseat driving is tiring work.”

“He would know.”

Steve sent an affectionate smile toward the sleeping boy in the backseat. “He may be a shit, but he looks so peaceful like that. Almost like he didn’t manipulate us into taking this trip.”

“He’s damn hard to be mad at sometimes. He’s still just a kid, even with everything he’s seen.”

You saw Steve’s brows furrow in your peripheral vision.

“I guess it was kind of sweet. In a manipulative, borderline-dick way.”

You laughed.

“If we don’t kill each other, I’m killing him. I love him, but…fifteen hours in a car? That’s a recipe for disaster for a married couple, let alone…” You didn’t say us; you didn’t think there was an us anymore.

“You and me?”

You sighed. “Yeah.”

“Look …we’ve still got, like, twelve hours until we make it to the Byers’ house. We can be civil until then. And if you want to stay and get a ride back with Nancy and the others, I’ll turn around and drive back. Problem solved.”

Your stomach twisted, and you resisted the frantic urge to yell _No, no, don’t go. Don’t go again._

Not that he’d done the leaving. You’d broken up with him. You had no right to ask him to stay; you didn’t necessarily want to. Things had ended for a reason.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, more out of politeness than truth. It was what you were supposed to say. And then, he was supposed to say:

“I do,” he said. “But, it’s okay.”

You swallowed your words and shoved the blooming pain back down. It was the right thing to do, but that didn’t make it okay. That didn’t make any of it okay.


	2. so we'll all gather our ghosts

**HOUR 11**

You woke from your restless sleep to a pop and a hiss and the car lurching as it caught the rim of a popped tire. Straightening, you turned to search for Dustin; luckily, your brother was safe in the backseat, just as surprised to be woken up as you were. 

“Shit, shit.” Steve was cursing beneath his breath as he pulled the car over onto the side of the road. 

“What the hell just happened?” 

“Did we hit something?” Dustin asked. 

“I think,” Steve said, a little pale in the face, “a porcupine just killed itself on my car.”

“You what?”

“You hit a porcupine?”

“It ran into the road. I tried to avoid it, but I swear to god, that thing had an agenda.”

You all climbed out of the car and met at the front hood, where the front right tire was a shredded mess. You leaned around the car to peer around and found the culprit - indeed, a porcupine - on the road. Your stomach rolled at the sight, and you stepped back. 

“Yep. That’s …definitely a porcupine.” 

“Do you have a spare?” You asked. 

“Of course, I have a spare.” Steve scoffed and made his way to the trunk, popping it open. His mouth turned down in a frown, and he met Dustin’s gaze. “Dustin, where the hell is my spare?”

Dustin’s cheeks went pink, and he rocked back on his heels. 

“I needed more room for my bags.”

“So, you took out the spare tire?”

“I didn’t think you’d hit a _goddamn porcupine!_ ”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing. “I…I can’t believe…”

“ _Jesus Christ_ , Dustin,” you said. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t think we needed it.”

“You always. Need. The spare. Tire.” Steve raked a hand through his hair and closed the trunk.

“I know that now.”

“Well, we’re stuck here, then,” Steve said. 

“What?”

“What do you mean stuck?”

“It’s almost midnight,” Steve said, gesturing to the empty road, “And five miles to the nearest town. No one’s coming by until morning. Which means, we’re stranded here until then.” 

“We’re in the middle of nowhere!” Dustin protested.

“He who screws over the car doesn’t get to complain!” You said. Dustin huffed. 

“Y/N and I can take turns watching for cars. We just need someone to give us their spare, or send the tow truck our way.”

“And how long will that take, are we thinking?” You asked. Steve frowned. 

“Let me just consult the car fairy and find out.” 

“Jeez,” you said, “Touchy.” 

“It’s the murder,” Dustin said, “It’s getting to him.”

“I’m going to murder the both of you if you don’t shut up,” Steve warned. 

**HOUR 12**

Steve took the first unofficial watch, propped on the hood of the car with a blanket around his shoulders. It wasn’t so cold that letting him stay out there was inhumane, and you didn’t have much interest in talking to him right now, anyway. You were tired of driving and tired of being stuck in the car and just plain old tired in general. 

Dustin had been quiet for at least twenty minutes, and you thought he was asleep when he popped his head over the seat. 

“Y/N?” He asked. You shifted to face him, drawing your knees up onto the seat. 

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had no idea any of this was going to happen. I didn’t mean…”

You smiled and reached out to ruffle his curls. “I know you didn’t.”

Dustin leaned over the seat, arms hanging, and you shifted closer to him. His lips turned down in a frown, brows furrowed. 

“You were so happy together. I thought if I could get us all together, like it used to be, you’d remember.” 

You smiled sadly at him. It was easy to forget what the kids had been through, the darkness they’d seen. They all seemed to bounce back so quickly, as if they’d never even seen the carnage, let alone been a part of it. 

“I wish it was that easy. I really do.”

“What happened?”

It wasn’t a conversation you really needed to have with your brother, but as much as you might not like it, he wasn’t a little kid you could soothe with false answers. He could see what was in front of him. 

You sighed and tipped your head back against the seat. 

“After everything happened, some of us had an easier time moving on than others. You know that. We just…” you glanced out the front window where Steve sat drumming his fingers against a thigh, “We just weren’t helping each other move on. We were stuck.” 

“And now? Are you still stuck?”

You shook your head. 

“I don’t know. I’d like to think not.” You turned to look at him. “What about you? Steve took you to Weathertop last night, right?” 

His face lit up at the mention of his girlfriend; you longed for the days it was as simple as that. Of course, the circumstances were more straightforward, too. You’d take distance over fighting monsters any day. Fighting together meant, inevitably, losing together, and losing was sometimes an easier obstacle to cross alone. Sometimes holding someone’s hand meant holding them in place. 

“She’s good. She won’t stop rubbing it in my face, though. How she saved the world, and all that,” he said. You laughed. 

“The girl deserves the credit. She did save the world, technically. Saved us.” 

“Oh, she knows.”

“You did, too, you know,” you said. “You saved me and Steve and Robin, too.”

Dustin shrugged off the compliment. “Wasn’t just me.”

“You deserve the credit, too. You and Erica saved us. We’d have died down there,” you said. “And if we had, we would never have gotten to go on this fun road trip.” 

He crinkled his nose. “Jesus, you’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance. Doubt Steve will, either.”

“At least you agree on something,” Dustin said. You snorted. 

“You’ve got a point, there.” 

**HOUR 13**

Dustin’s snoring in the backseat was only tolerable for so long, and though the options were a snoring brother and a brooding ex, eventually, you gave in and climbed out of the car. You stretched your tight limbs and nudged the door shut behind you, making your way to the hood where Steve lay, back on the window. At your arrival, he silently shifted to the side to make you room. You climbed up beside him, laying farther than you would have a few months ago. Your heart twinged painfully at the thought; the thing couldn’t make up its mind. But, you supposed, hate and love were closely intertwined. 

“Remember the camping trip? Before graduation?” He asked, breaking the silence; you were grateful you didn’t have to. 

“We drove four hours into the woods, realized we forgot a tent, and had to huddle up in the back of the car for warmth all night. I don’t think that really counts as a camping trip.” 

“Never gonna forgive me for forgetting the tent, are you?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the P. 

“The night ended pretty well the way the way I remember it.” 

You turned your head and cocked a brow. “Huddled up for warmth in the backseat? Way better than sleeping on the frozen ground.” 

“I don’t remember you complaining about the ‘huddling,’” he said. Your brows furrowed. 

“You forgot the tent on purpose, didn’t you?”

He reacted with exaggerated offense, sucking in a breath. “What? No way.”

“Liar,” you said, elbowing his side. He elbowed you back. “Very mature.” 

“No,” he said, “honestly, I was so nervous I forgot it.”

“Nervous? Why the hell would you be nervous?”

He arched a brow like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I wanted you to like me.”

“You could have taken me on the shittiest vacation in the world, and I still would have liked you.” A fat lot of good the sentiment did, now, though. 

Steve grinned and let his gaze stray back to the stars above you. It felt incredibly normal to just lay there in the quiet, at ease in one another’s presence again. It was like shifting pieces settling back into place, like letting out a breath of relief. 

The hardest part, besides the actual _missing_ , was the knowing. The good memories that clung to you like vines. The weird pieces of information; favorite foods and quirks and inside jokes with no one to tell. To slam walls down between years of intimacy and pretend you don’t remember what it was like behind them was torture. 

Because you do. You remember all of it. Words shared in the dark, tears wiped from cheeks, and wounds stitched together. You remember the scars, especially.

“I lied. When I said those things, I lied,” you said. Steve didn’t play dumb; the trip had dredged up too many memories for him to forget you ending things with such vicious words: I don’t love you anymore. 

“We don’t have to talk about it.” 

“No,” you said, “we do.” You sat up and drew your knees to your chest, arms slung loosely around them. Steve followed suit and waited. 

“It wasn’t that I didn’t-” you tripped over the word _love_ , “-care about you.” His brows furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt. “After everything, I didn’t understand the way you just…went back to normal. Like none of it happened. Like we didn’t almost die or lose people. I was drowning, all of us were, but you acted like it was all okay. And when I tried to bring it up, you went…blank. And I couldn’t live like that. I couldn’t pretend.” 

His brows pulled together, mouth drawn in a thin line. He looked more closed off than you’d seen him in a long time; since that day. 

“So I lied, and I said the worst thing I could possibly say to you, and I never got to tell you I was sorry. I am sorry. I don’t want you to think I hate you because I don’t. I just couldn’t move past what we went through with you still back in that room.” 

He let out a breath and closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, they were hopelessly sad. 

“It was,” he said, “It was the worst thing you could have said. And you did it anyway.” 

The guilt and the hurt coiled together like a pile of snakes in your gut. There were no words to make it better; no magic answer to fix what was broken between you. 

Like a flip was switched, Steve slid off the hood and shoved his hands into his pockets. 

“I’m gonna get some sleep. Wake me if you flag down a car,” he said. And though you wanted to call after him, make him stay, you let him get into the car. 

**HOUR 17**

Relief came in the form of an old lady named Gertrude in a massive truck who drove by at 6 in the morning. She drove Steve into town, and he returned an hour later in an auto repairman’s car with a fresh tire and coffee for both of you, which he gave you without a word. 

He hadn’t spoken to you in hours. Which, granted, wasn’t much of a change from the last few months, but the tension between you had thickened to molasses: fucking impossible to wade through without grimacing. 

And there you were again: Dustin, happily and innocently singing along to the radio, and Steve, looking out the window and brooding, and you, trying to focus on the empty road ahead of you. 

In six hours, you’d be at the Byers home. Steve would stay the night, get some rest, and turn back around. Like it had never even happened. 

You couldn’t decide whether you were happy about that or not, relieved about that or not. 

**HOUR 31**

Dustin was out of the car and in a group/bear hug with the rest of his party on the front porch before you’d even put the car into park. You and Steve lugged the bags in without a word, though Nancy did catch your eye with a surprised expression when she saw Steve, to which you mouthed later. 

After the obligatory hugs and catch-ups, Joyce dragged Steve and Jonathan into the kitchen to help her cook, the boys and Max and El went to check out Will’s room, and you ended up beside Nancy in Jonathan’s room, which she’d already taken over with her stuff. She wore one of his tee shirts, and it was one of those little things that hit you out of nowhere, the missing. 

“There’s no way Steve volunteered for Thanksgiving with two of his exes,” Nancy said, arching her brows. You laughed. 

“Yeah, we’ve got Dustin to thank for that one. I think Steve figured you were the safest ex to be around for the holidays.”

“Dustin,” she said, shaking her head with a laugh. “Of course. He’s good.” 

“Scarily good.”

“Do you think he was right to do it?” She asked. You arched a brow, and she shrugged. “I mean, obviously, it was a crappy way of going about it, but the kids have all said it, and I’ve seen it. You two are miserable. Maybe he had a point.” 

You pursed your lips. “I don’t think it’s really up to me anymore. I fucked things up. Really badly.”

“Nothing’s broken beyond repair,” she said, and you wanted, desperately, to believe her.

**HOUR 38**

The Byers’ new home was big, but still crowded with everyone stuffed inside, and you were relieved for the quiet that settled when everyone went to bed, squashed into bedrooms and on couches. You ended up on the back porch; the previous owners had left a rickety porch swing. It whined in protest when you sat down on it, but the metal held beneath your weight. You planted your feet and nudged it into motion with your knees, the swing moving back and forth. The cold crept through your layers and onto your skin, making you shiver, but it wasn’t unpleasant; the cold had a way of reminding you that you were alive. 

The glass door slid open, and Steve stepped out, his breath white as he crossed the threshold with a huff. He tugged it shut and jammed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie before coming to sit beside you on the swing, which creaked in objection. 

You were surprised at his presence; he hadn’t spoken to you all day. 

“Jesus,” he said. “Are you trying to freeze to death?”

“It feels nice,” you said. “You’re just a wimp.”

“I like my fingertips, thank you very much.” 

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

“I’m planning on it. Saw you come out. Had to make sure you weren’t running off into the woods.”

“No Demogorgon’s in Maine,” you said. His lips quirked up. 

“Famous last words.” He shrugged further into his jacket, and you took the opportunity to just look at him. On the drive, you’d only been able to sneak glances; glances you should not have been sneaking. But now, he was right beside you, seeming closer than he had in months. His hair needed a cut, but the marks left by the men below Starcourt had healed and faded. 

“Saw you staring at Nancy and Byers.” He straightened, avoiding your eyes. 

“They’re cute,” you said. Steve met your gaze and arched a brow. “Okay, they’re gross. Cute, but gross.”

“Disgustingly happy,” he said. You laughed despite yourself, and Steve seemed startled by it. You bit your lip and shifted ever so slightly to face him. 

“We were like that, once. And I ruined it. I’m sorry.” 

He shook his head. 

“No. You were right. I was…pushing it all away. And I didn’t let myself deal with it. I was stuck in that room.” 

“Did you make it out?”

His lips curled up in a sad smile. 

“I think I did.” 

“I’m glad,” you said. “I’m sorry it happened the way it did. Hurting you…that wasn’t something I wanted.”

“I know,” he said. “I know I fucked things up, too.” 

“We were a bit of a mess, yeah?”

“More than a bit.”

You pressed your lips together, and your stomach churned. The words burned on your tongue, desperate to be said. “If you want to leave in the morning, I have no right to ask you to stay.”

His brows furrowed slightly. 

“Ask,” he said. 

“Steve,” you said, “Don’t go.” 

He met your gaze, eyes unguarded for the first time in a long time, and he touched your cheek gently. You leaned into him and wrapped his arms around you, tucking you against his chest. He dropped a kiss onto your head, and you closed your eyes. 

There was still no easy fix, no cure. But everyone deserved a second chance to get things right. Or, at the very least, you _wanted_ one. _Wanted_ to try again, to walk a different path. And wanting to get it right was half the battle. 


End file.
